


Reflex

by blancafic



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Academy Era, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Halloween, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Relationship, Promptober
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 03:50:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20901182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blancafic/pseuds/blancafic
Summary: Academy AU in which an unfortunate accident brings Jemma and Fitz closer a little ahead of schedule.





	Reflex

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. Promptober 2019 challenge. Day 4: Haunted House (just a mention, but it counts).
> 
> Words can't express how grateful I am to have LibbyWeasly as a fandom friend and beta. She really is the best! Special thanks also to AgentofShip for all her support and encouragement!

"I am so, so sorry."

"You said that already. Repeatedly. It's fine, Simmons. You don't have to keep apologizing." 

The bleeding had stopped a while ago, but the two wads of gauze still stuffed in Fitz’s nostrils gave his voice a pinched, nasal quality. His face was even pastier than usual and dark purple marks were starting to form around his nose that she was pretty sure weren’t remnants of the zombie makeup he’d washed off earlier. It was hard to tell which of the spots of blood on his ragged clothes were fake and which were real.

"I don't know what got into me. I've never done anything like that before. I've been taking these Operations self-defense courses at night and I just . . . and when I saw that it was _you_—”

Jemma was interrupted by the doctor sliding open the curtain and entering the room. It must have been a slow night in the ER, because they hadn't been waiting more than 20 minutes. She'd hoped she'd have a little more time to straighten things out while they were stuck in a small room together with nowhere else to go. Of all the possible first conversations she'd imagined having with Leopold Fitz — and she'd imagined lots — this wasn't something she ever could have come up with, and certainly wouldn’t have chosen. What must he think of her now?

"All right, Mr. Fitz," the doctor said, opening a laptop computer and typing a few notes. "Let's have a look at you."

"I'll wait outside, shall I?" Jemma asked, awkwardly inching toward the door.

"You can stay," the doctor said. "If it's alright with the patient."

Before Fitz could answer, Jemma jumped in with an explanation.

"Oh, we don't know each other that well." She could feel a ramble coming on but was unable to stop herself before it all poured out in a rush. "I mean, we have some classes together, but we've never really spoken outside of that. I just thought I should be here since I’m the one responsible for his . . . uh, injury, you see. I was visiting a local haunted house walkthrough with some fellow students when someone — well, Fitz, obviously — jumped out at me. And yes, I do realize that's to be expected in a haunted house, but I was startled and instinct took over and I, um . . . "

With a wince, she brought the heel of her hand up in a swift motion to demonstrate the defensive move she'd performed on him in the heat of the moment. She heard his soft, sharp inhale and could see the flicker of the painful memory register on his face. Even the doctor pursed her lips in sympathy as she proceeded with her examination.

"Okay. That’s one way to get to know your classmates, I suppose.” the doctor said with a smirk. Fitz gave Jemma a shy smile and then looked down at his fidgeting hands, which was fortunate because otherwise he would surely have seen the blush she could feel creeping over her face.

“I don’t mind if she stays,” he said softly, pulling out the gauze and taking a hesitant breath. For some reason, the heat in her cheeks spread all the way down to her chest.

The doctor nodded, then took his face in her hands and gently rubbed the sides of his nose with her thumbs. “Any difficulty breathing?” Fitz shook his head. “Pain? Bleeding or discharge?”

“Some bleeding earlier, but it’s stopped now. Still kind of hurts.” He looked sheepish as he said it, almost as if he were reluctant to admit it. He was probably wary of setting off another outpouring of apologies from her. She was tempted, but held her tongue, not wanting to interfere with the doctor’s work.

“Well, no sign of misalignment or fracture,” the doctor concluded, clicking off the mini torch she'd just shined into his nasal cavity. “I'd like to get an X-ray to make sure, though. You’ll probably have some swelling and bruising for a bit. Take some Tylenol or Motrin for the pain and ice it 15 to 20 minutes, three to four times a day. If it’s not back to normal in a few days, give us a call and we’ll take another look.”

The doctor didn’t stay much longer, but Jemma didn’t really pay attention to anything she said after that. She was too relieved to hear that she hadn’t hurt Fitz too badly. For once, she was grateful for her lack of strength and training. It could have been so much worse. And then he’d probably never speak to her again. Which shouldn’t have been her main concern, she knew, but the thought kept popping into her head. The important thing was that he was going to be fine. 

The nurse came in to show Fitz to the X-ray room, leaving Jemma to stew and examine the whole situation more closely. They’d been at the Academy for a little over a month now, but she’d noticed him straightaway. He was the only one close to her in age — a mere 23 days older, in fact, as she’d discovered when he was filling out the paperwork in the waiting room — and positively brilliant. When he wasn’t wearing fright makeup or sporting a swollen nose he wasn’t at all bad to look at. Which she found herself doing quite often. He challenged her in their classes, openly and often, but she always gave as good as she got. To the point where even their professors had started shaking their heads whenever the two of them got on a roll. She hadn’t met many people in her life who could keep up with her so easily, so it was only natural that she found him intriguing. And yet they’d never had a single conversation outside of a classroom. 

Until now. 

How funny that it took a nearly broken nose to break the ice. She could laugh about it now that she knew it was nothing serious.

He came back with a stack of official looking papers and the welcome news that they were free to go. She’d driven them here from the haunted house, and he’d taken the bus to get there, so she insisted on driving him back to his dorm. He didn’t put up much of a fight. 

She wasn’t sure what to say to him on the way home. There were so many topics that felt out of bounds. Finally, she burst out with the one question she’d been dying to ask him all night.

“What were you doing there anyway?”

They were sitting at a stoplight so she could afford to spare him a glance, and was glad when she did. The puzzled look on his face was objectively adorable.

“What?”

“Just, I mean, why a haunted house?” she clarified.

“Oh. I’m . . . uh . . . working on a project. Outside of class. And the components are expensive, so I needed to make a little extra money. This was seasonal and all nighttime hours, so it fit with my schedule.”

“What kind of project?”

He seemed surprised by the question, but didn’t hesitate to answer. “A micro drone. For capturing forensic data. I have a design already, I just need to build the thing.”

“Fascinating. So it would collect and analyze samples?”

They talked about his drone project, and their classes, and their classmates, and their professors, and so, so much more, all the way back to Fitz’s dorm.

Jemma pulled into a space in front of his building and stopped the car, but neither of them moved. The organic, natural flow of their earlier conversation tapered off until there was only silence. She couldn’t begin to guess what was going through his head, but she wasn’t ready to say goodnight yet. She would see him on Monday in class, of course, but she was afraid that whatever was happening between them now might evaporate in the light of day. It felt like they were on the verge of something entirely new, and she desperately wanted to keep that momentum going, to see where it might lead.

“Fitz—”

“Simmons, if you say sorry one more time I swear—”

“No, no. I mean, I am. Obviously. Of course I am. But that’s not what I was going to say.”

“Oh. What . . . what were you going to say?”

At the last second, she chickened out. “Just that if you ever need help with your drone project, let me know. It sounds quite promising.”

It wasn’t the most convincing recovery, but he smiled at her anyway. “Yeah? I might do that.”

“And also, I’m really, really sorry.”

“Simmons!” 

“That’s the last time, I promise.”

They both laughed and, despite her stupid reflexes and his injury and the hospital and everything else, she kind of wanted to live in that moment forever.

“Well, if you feel that badly about it, I’ll let you make it up to me.” He wasn’t looking at her when he said it, but she saw the ghost of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

“Yes! Please. Tell me what I can do.”

“How about dinner?” This time he did look at her, and the hope in his eyes was almost too much to handle.

“Of course. I could bring you dinner while you’re recovering.”

He swallowed so loud she could hear it. “No, I mean . . . Maybe we could go out to dinner sometime?”

“You mean you and me?”

“Forget it. Never mind.”

She could feel him retreating already. He’d put himself out there and thought she was shooting him down. She was quick to correct that notion. “No! No. I . . . I’d like that, actually. Please let me take you to dinner.”

“Okay. Then . . . it’s a date.”

She took a moment to let it sink in. She had an actual date with Leopold Fitz, the most interesting person she’d met in ages. This was definitely not how she’d expected her evening to turn out, at any point. But it wasn’t an unwelcome turn of events.

He looked like he still needed some reassurance, so she took his hand and smiled. “Let’s hope it goes better than our first.”

**Author's Note:**

> No Leopold Fitzes were harmed in the writing of this fic.


End file.
